Two Suspects
by KaizokuShojo
Summary: Answer to bcbdrums's CHAS AU challenge. When Lestrade is called in to investigate the murder of a certain known blackmailer, will he be able to discover the culprit?
1. Scene of the Crime

**Two Suspects**

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_**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Sherlock Holmes or any of the affiliated characters or ideas--their creator is the remarkable Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.**_

**KS: This is for bcbdrums's CHAS AU challenge. I could have done any number of neat ideas, but I chose this one because it's what first popped into my head when I saw the Master Blackmailer's climax. XD**

**Of course, even though I was inspired by the climax of Master Blackmailer, this is canon-based. (Though, I did borrow a name from the film...xD;)**

**Please, enjoy!**

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"My God..." I breathed as the sheet was pulled back from the body. I knelt down to take a closer look.

Mr. Charles Augustus Milverton lay sprawled upon the floor of his study; multiple close-range gunshot wounds were scattered across his chest, and some small object had been twisted thoroughly into his face, bloodying it as well. I stood to my feet, frowning.

I then turned my attention to my surroundings, first noting the carpet. There were already several sets of foot-prints, but I had my tracing experts in here earlier, so they would give me the proper report on that. There was a small, rounded spot of blood on the carpet in several spots leading away from the body. Perhaps a cane had been driven into his face after he had fallen. I put that idea aside in my brain for later.

The great green safe stood open, but was empty. What had been inside? Where were the contents? I saw a large pile of charred paper ashes in the fireplace. Well, that answered my question. I groaned inwardly. The Yard had been watching Milverton for a while, and we knew that he was a blackmailer, dealing with the high class to drain them of their riches. But we had no evidence...and now it seemed all the evidence was in cinders.

"And they said it was a _simple_ murder in the message..." I sighed. I turned to the constable at my side. "And the witnesses?"

"We have the ones that got the best look at 'em and a few others in the drawing room waiting, sir," he replied.

"Good... Thank you, constable."

I then made my way to where the servants and other members of the household were waiting. I wasted no time in beginning my inquiries.

"All right," said I, "I am Inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard. I would like you to tell me as much as possible of what transpired here last night."

The under-gardener was the one to speak first.

"I saw one of them, sir," he said.

"One of them?"

"Yes, there were two of 'em."

"Yes," chimed in another servant, "We saw them as came outta the verandah."

"Do you have their descriptions?" I asked.

"Roger's got it very well," said one gravely, "He almost had one."

The under-gardener flushed slightly, clenching his fists. "Yeah, I couldn't catch the first bloke...ran faster than I'd ever seen a fella go. But the second, I grasped his heel as he was trying to get over the fence. He kicked away, though, and we lost 'em."

"What did they look like?" I asked.

"Well the first, from what I could see--mind you, it wasn't exactly a clear night--was a tall man...long-legged, and thin. He had a mask on. I saw it when he turned to spy us once. The other bloke I got a better look at. He wasn't as tall...a solid fellow. Thick neck, square jaw--he also had a black mask on. And he had a moustache. He was fast at first, keeping up fairly well with his mate, but he slowed a little, and by the time they neared the fence he was a good distance behind him." The man hit his knee with his fist. "I almost had 'im!"

I took down everything in my note-book; I was very glad for shorthand. "Is there anything else?"

"One of them was wearing evening dress," said one servant. "I saw it because 'e was without 'is coat."

"And the other wore his? Which was without?"

"It was the taller one; 'e 'ad it slung over 'is shoulder. The shorter one wore 'is."

"We have their footprints, Inspector," spoke a sergeant at my side. "And we've located their entry-point."

"Good. With their footprints, it shall be much easier to narrow down the list of suspects--"

"I say it's that Escott fellow," said one man, almost bitterly.

The housemaid sat up straighter with a start. "Robert!" she cried.

I felt my brow furrow lightly. "Escott? Please, madam, let him continue."

"He's a plumber that's been hanging around here far too often. I'd say he was checking out the place before burgling it," the man replied.

"Come on now, Stokes," said the man beside him, "You're just saying that because he was after Aggie's hand."

"Can you describe this 'Mr. Escott?' " I asked.

Stokes scowled at the man next to him and huffed lightly before he continued. "He was a tall fellow, with long legs, like the first chap. He had thick brown hair, light eyes...his nose was thick, and looked as if it had been broken and healed wrong."

"But," said the under-gardener, "I'm sure I woulda recognised Escott, and that first bloke wasn't him."

"It was a dark night, it still could have been!"

I sighed. "What were the papers in Milverton's safe?"

"We don't know what papers he kept. We were never allowed to see them, of course. It had to do with his private business, he said once, and that's all he ever said."

_Of course he wouldn't tell the servants of his business,_ I thought. So much for that. "What else can you tell me?"

When I was met with silence, I closed my note-book and stood to my feet. "Thank you for your time. If you can recall anything that will aid us in finding the murderers, please do not hesitate to inform us."

I turned towards the door to leave, and as I walked I addressed the sergeant. "I would like to see those foot-prints you found."

"Yessir."

As the sergeant led me out to where the thankfully soft ground had held the culprits' footmarks I allowed myself to think on what I had learnt so far:

There had been two men--I had gotten as much of a description as I _could_ of them. The same dark, damp night that had allowed the footmarks to stay had also prevented a very clear sight of them, apparently. They had come in, broke into the safe, and started to destroy Milverton's papers. Apparently they were gentlemen, for one was in evening dress. That was probably _why _they wanted to destroy the papers...one of them, or one of their lady friends, was being blackmailed. They could have easily gotten this Escott fellow to gather information for them; it took no great bribe for some tradesmen.

Milverton must have walked in while they were doing their deed, and one had shot him. It was probably the one that was being blackmailed, for that many shots was overkill. Then one ground something into his face. It was small enough to be a walking stick, so that was a likely enough probability.

But as many shots as were fired... it was even more likely that the gentlemen had already been blackmailed. It was for revenge.

Then after that the house was roused, and the criminals fled the scene.

That much was easy to understand.

"Here we are, Inspector," said the sergeant, stopping. "These two--" he gestured with the toe of his foot, "--are the culprits' foot-marks. We tested them against all the household's."

I studied the impression in the earth closely, wondering what that Sherlock Holmes would say about them. He'd probably give me the man's ruddy profession from the stride alone...

"What's that smaller mark?" I asked, pointing to something in the dirt that seemed very similar to the small mark I had seen on Milverton's face and carpet.

"Oh, that?" the sergeant asked. "We aren't quite sure...thought perhaps you would know."

"It's hard to tell with all the footmarks over it, isn't it?" I said, kneeling for a closer look. I brushed the moist soil gently with my finger-tips. "It almost looks like the end of a walking stick, though I don't know a man who would use one while running. Unless he was a cripple."

"But one of the men wasn't as fast as his confederate," the sergeant suggested, "Perhaps it was him."

"Likely enough," said I, standing again but still staring at the foot-prints.

"Thank you, Sergeant," I said, and I walked back to the front of the house in the dim early morning light.

I sighed. There were countless people who wanted Milverton dead...

I was out of my depth once again.

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**KS: Thanks for reading, don't forget to review! Chapter two will come soon enough, I think.**

**...And I have a new poll on my journal, if anyone wants to check it out. XD**


	2. Sherlock Holmes

**Two Suspects**

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_**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Sherlock Holmes or any of the affiliated characters or ideas--their creator is the remarkable Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.**_

**KS: This is chapter two of my contribution to bcbdrums's CHAS AU challenge. I could have done any number of neat ideas, but I chose this one because it's what first popped into my head when I saw the Master Blackmailer's climax. XD**

**Of course, even though I was inspired by the climax of Master Blackmailer, this is canon-based. Some lines of dialouge in this chapter have been taken straight from the canon; I'm sure you'll recognise them.**

**Please, enjoy!**

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It had been early enough in the morning when I had gone to Hampstead to see about the murder, and when I arrived at Baker-Street it was a little past nine o'clock. Mr. Holmes's landlady admitted me, offering tea which I declined. I was shown up to the sitting-room, where Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson were smoking their morning pipes.

"Good morning, Mr. Holmes," I said with a nod in his direction; I gave a nod to the Doctor as well. "Good morning. May I ask if you are very busy just now?"

"Not too busy to listen to you," said Holmes.

"I thought that, perhaps, if you had nothing particular on hand, you might care to assist us in a most remarkable case which occurred only last night at Hampstead."

"Dear me!" said Holmes. "What was that?"

"A murder--a most dramatic and remarkable murder. I know how keen you are upon these things, and I would take it as a great favour if you would step down to Appledore Towers and give us the benefit of your advice. It is no ordinary crime. We have had our eyes upon this Mr. Milverton for some time, and, between ourselves, he was a bit of a villain. He is known to have held papers which he used for blackmailing purposes. These papers have all been burned by the murderers. No article of value was taken, as it is probable that the criminals were men of good position, whose sole object was to prevent social exposure."

"Criminals!" exclaimed the unnoficial with a glint in his eye, "Plural!"

"Yes, there were two of them. They were, as nearly as possible, captured red-handed. We have their foot-marks, we have their description; it's ten to one that we trace them. The first fellow was a bit too active, but the second was caught by the under-gardener and only got away after a struggle. He was a middle-sized, strongly built man--square jaw, thick neck, moustache, a mask over his eyes."

"That's rather vague," said Sherlock Holmes with a smile. "Why, it might be a description of Watson!"

"It's true," I laughed, "It might be a description of Watson."

"Well, I am afraid I can't help you, Lestrade," said Holmes. "The fact is that I knew this fellow Milverton, that I considered him one of the most dangerous men in London, and that I think there are certain crimes which the law cannot touch, and which therefore, to some extent, justify private revenge."

I felt my brow furrow deeply in confusion. I knew I must have looked dumbfounded, but I could harldy help it. I opened my mouth to speak, but he did not give me time.

"No, it's no use arguing. I have made up my mind. My sympathies are with the criminals rather than the victim, and I will not handle this case."

I found myself soon after on the pavement outside, my head reeling from what had just occurred. Sherlock Holmes, not taking such a singular case? I was astounded. It was no unheard of thing for Holmes to refuse a case, especially if it did not suit his desire for the _outre_, but this one seemed to hold every point he longed for in each crime.

I sighed tiredly and hailed a cab, hopping into the first one to come along; I did not feel much like walking.

I had read before in The Strand Magazine where Holmes had let a criminal go because he felt he was justified in doing so...obviously this was another one of those times. I could hardly blame him, but in the official capacity I was not allowed to take such liberties. I was left with the case, whether it was deeper than I cared to go or not. I was rather more worried as the descriptions we had of the men _were_ rather vague...but at least they were a start.

A thought entered my mind as I rode back to the Yard. As odious as Milverton seemed to be, we had not been able to get anything on him strong enough to make any moves. All who had been affected or were being affected by his greedy grasp were too afraid--or too broken--to give us the information. But it was very possible that one of Milverton's victims had, at some point, gone to see the "unofficial consulting detective" for help. No wonder he held sympathies for the culprits of the man's murder.

In fact, he might have even known the men that killed Milverton. He might have known about the whole thing to begin with. He might even... wait a moment.

I froze, and I knew it wasn't from the bitter weather about me.

_"That's rather vague," said Sherlock Holmes with a smile. "Why, it might be a description of Watson!"_

_"It's true," I laughed, "It might be a description of Watson."_

_"Yeah, I couldn't catch the first bloke...ran faster than I'd ever seen a fella go... ...from what I could see--mind you, it wasn't exactly a clear night--was a tall man...long-legged, and thin..."_

Oh, dear God...

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**KS: Thanks for reading, don't forget to review!**


	3. More Evidence

**Two Suspects**

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_**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Sherlock Holmes or any of the affiliated characters or ideas--their creator is the remarkable Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.**_

**KS: Welcome to chapter three of my contribution to bcbdrums's CHAS AU challenge. Pardon me for the couple of days without an update... As usual, I really don't know where this is going to go (I really should start planning things out) so I was a little concerned what I would put in this chapter.**

**It's still based on canon...though I do hear Colin Jeavons's voice as I type...XD;**

**(And I'm sorry if there is anything wrong with it in any way...I had no beta. XD)**

**Please, enjoy!**

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I put my face into my hands. There was no way. It was impossible.

I was just too tired. That was it. I had finally worked myself further than my body could bear, and now my mind was playing tricks on me. I had been running myself ragged the past few days...what with that forgery and murder case...

I leaned back in the cab. Maybe Gregson or someone else would take this blasted case.

A somewhat shaky hand reached into my coat for a cigarette. I had to think. Surely it was pure coincidence that the descriptions I could get of the two murderers coresponded with Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson. There was certainly more than one tall, thin gentleman in London, and certainly more than one strongly-built, moustached gentleman.

I finally found a match and lit the cigarette, drawing on it thankfully.

It was only natural that the tall, long-legged one should greatly outrun the stockier culprit. And I had never seen the Doctor run with a walking-stick before. But then...last night was rather foul. Perhaps his leg wound had been acting up.

If I had suspected them before, I could have tried to read guilt or something on their faces when I mentioned the murder. Mr. Holmes's stony visage would have revealed nothing had I been watching for anything, I was sure, but the Doctor's... his face was too honest to hide much. But I had been focusing on getting the amateur interested in the crime.

I shook my head. I had no solid proof that it was either of them. It certainly would not be the first time that I jumped too quickly to conclusions. Since I sorely did _not_ want it to be them, I would have to look elsewhere until more evidence came up to prove me wrong.

Or, right.

I _had_ to be wrong. Dr. Watson would _never_ shoot anyone that many times, even if they were in danger. And if Sherlock Holmes had been the shooter...he would have carried the crime off with more precision. He wouldn't have shot so many times as to rouse the house so instantly that they could barely make their escape.

With this thought in mind my chest felt a little lighter, though I still had an ill feeling in my stomach.

Once I had arrived at the Yard I hopped out of the cab, hoping that this truly was one of those times where I was totally wrong. I went inside, fully intending on keeping the whole business to myself until I was sure, one way or the other.

I made my way back to my office, seating myself heavily at my desk. I had just begun to leaf through the mountain of documents that had been left there when there was a knock at my door, followed by the ruddy but honest face of my foot-mark specialist.

"Come in, Evans," said I.

The man stepped in further, holding a small portfolio under his arm, and closed the door behind him.

"I saw you come in, sir. I have the report."

"Good. So, what did you find?" I waved him into a chair, and he produced a few sheets of paper.

"We found _three_ sets of foot-prints on the carpet, not just two."

"_Three_?"

"One was a lady's. You know the mark in Milverton's face? We think that's the lady's heel--the blood remains for a few steps away from the body."

_Ah, so __that's__ what it was..._

"So there was a lady present at the murder," I said.

Evans nodded. "As far as we can tell."

"Then, why did no one see _her_ at the escape?"

"She seems to have fled first. The footprints of the other two both overlap hers."

"Ah, I see. Then the other two must have stayed behind to burn the papers..."

"Most likely, sir. There's another little thing...I'm starting to think it was an ambush."

"Ambush?" I asked in surprise.

"The men's footprints first go behind the curtain, and they stay there for a while. The men and the lady came in from separate ways, too."

I furrow my brow in thought, leaning forward with my elbows on the desk.

"So...you think that the woman was a distraction, to help the men take Milverton unprepared?"

"That's my opinion, though I could very well be wrong. I just analyse the foot-marks."

"Hm," I muttered. "Well, is that all you have?"

"One more thing," Evans said, handing me the papers he held, "I have with me the written reports for you."

I glanced over the documents.

"The first fellow was around six feet tall, and quite active. The second was probably about five feet with eight to ten inches, and he had a limp."

I felt my face blanch, but I never for an instant took my attention from the papers before me. Thankfully, Evans did not seem to notice.

"Which leg was the wounded one?" I inquired casually.

"Well, it might have been a birth defect or something other than a wound... But it was his right, I think."

I swallowed hard.

"The taller fellow spent more time in front of the safe than the shorter one," Evans continued.

_The safe that had been so 'cleverly opened'..._

"Is that all you found?" I asked after gathering my voice.

"Yes, that's all really there is to note. There are a few other slight particulars in the papers."

"Yes, of course. Thank you."

Evans stood and left, leaving me far more perplexed than before. Surely I was being paranoid. Surely. But Mr. Holmes had once said that I possessed little gift for imagination... how was it, then, that my mind was conjuring up such a mess as this?

I sighed, setting my head in my hand as I leafed through the remaining papers... "the burnt documents are absolutely unintelligible..." Little good they would have done us, anyways, with Milverton already being dead. You cannot put a dead man in gaol.

"Police sketches of the criminals and suspects..."

The first was of the plumber, Escott. He was a thin, young, rakish fellow with a goatee beard... He hardly looked threatening. The second was of the tall suspect. It was a very poor sketch... there was a note at the bottom that said the witnesses could not agree on anything but the fellow's body-shape, and the facial descriptions were far too vague to make anything with. The third... was almost a portrait of the Doctor--save for a bit of malice in the features. There were differences enough, but those could be attributed to the dark night.

_Wonderful..._

It was obvious, by what I had seen and heard, that this was far deeper than the average case. Surely there were coincidences somewhere, because it was too tangled for me to make any clear sense of.

I had learned by more experiences than I would care to acknowledge that the razor-like brain of Sherlock Holmes could cut through that which was impenetrable to me. And it had been a long time since I had faced anything as impenetrable as this twisted skein. I huffed. My gut's primary suspect was the only man that could help me.

Whether he _was_ the murderer or was completely innocent, I decided that I would drop by Baker-Street once again to call upon the unofficial detective. Perhaps with a bit more pleading he would at least shed a little light upon that which was so dark to me. Or give a confession.

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**KS: Thanks for reading! Please, please review! I'm most definitely unsure about this chapter. XD**


	4. Confrontation

**Two Suspects**

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_**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Sherlock Holmes or any of the affiliated characters or ideas--their creator is the remarkable Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.**_

**KS: Welcome to chapter four of my contribution to bcbdrums's CHAS AU challenge. I'm getting stuck on this somewhat...I really should start planning...XD**

**Please, enjoy!**

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I glanced over the rest of the reports, but they were mostly written versions of things I already had gathered at the scene of the murder. I sat them aside and stood. I might as well get this over with...

I left my office and began to make my way out of Scotland Yard, again hoping that no one inquired about the "Mysterious Hampstead Murder," as the papers were calling it, because I had not yet worked out what I was going to say if they did.

"Hallo, Lestrade," called a voice from behind me.

I stopped, turning to face my rival without a smile. "Gregson, Good morning."

"How's that murder case going? Strange business, from what I hear," the larger man asked.

"Well enough," I replied simply. "How's that burglary case of yours?"

"I've solved it," Gregson replied smugly. "All that's left now is to bring the fellow in."

"Ah, congratulations," said I.

"I thought I did well," Gregson said with a haughty smile. "I suppose you're off to continue your investigations, eh? Any leads?"

"...None to speak of," I replied. I did _not_ like to seem as if I was having difficulty, but it was better than telling him who I actually suspected.

"Well," Gregson drawled, "I suppose every case can't be wrapped up so quickly. I'll leave you to it, then. I've got to go speak with some constables who are to come with me for the arrest."

"Good luck with that," I said with actual sincerity. I knew enough of the case he was on that his criminal might not go without quite a struggle.

"Mm. I'll need it, I think. Good luck with your own inquiries."

Gregson walked away with the stride of a confident man, and I was almost jealous that all _he_had to deal with was a half-mad thief. _I_ had to deal with Sherlock Holmes...far outside of the usual circumstances.

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I had walked to Baker-Street to gather my thoughts properly before speaking with Holmes, and it was afternoon when I arrived. I looked up at the bow windows, and I could see by the moving figure inside that at least one of the two occupants was home. I pushed the feelings of nervousness down as best I could and stepped up to the door, pausing a moment before ringing the bell.

Holmes really will think me a fool if I accuse him and my suspicions really turn out to be false. But then, he seems to think me rather a fool anyways...only useful for my "tenacity," my abilities to "get my claws into someone"...

I rang the bell.

In a few moments their amiable landlady greeted me, and in a few more I was shown up to the sitting-room. It was interesting to see that Holmes was surprised to see me, and Dr. Watson seemed just a trifle nervous.

"Ah, Lestrade," Holmes said coolly. "You've returned. No luck with the case, I suppose?"

I removed my hat and held the brim firmly in my hands, eyeing the two of them carefully.

"Unfortunately that might not be so, Mr. Holmes," said I with perfect professionalism. "I have come to speak with you about it."

"I have already said that I will not assist you," Holmes said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"It is not assistance I am looking for, necessarily," I replied. I was beginning to wish I had brought a few constables along and left them outside... But perhaps I was being too paranoid again.

Dr. Watson's honest face flushed a bit more every minute. "Holmes, perhaps you and Mr. Lestrade wish to speak alone--" he said, moving to stand.

"No, Doctor," said I, firmly but coolly, "I should much prefer it if you stayed."

Watson shifted uncomfortably in his chair. I turned my questioning gaze upon the unofficial detective.

"Mr. Holmes..." I began, not just a trifle nervous, though I fought hard to hide it, "Were you present at the scene of the murder last night?"

The direct approach might not have been the best, but it was the one I was good at.

Holmes's eyebrows rose a fraction. "Was I at Hampstead? No, Lestrade, I'm afraid Dr. Watson and I went to the theatre."

_Men in evening dress..._

"Were you, really?" I asked, looking over at Watson. He flushed further, and I tried to picture a black mask over his eyes. I would have failed if it wasn't for that police-sketch. I looked back at Holmes. "I believe that you are lying to me."

Holmes's face remained perfectly calm. I knew I wouldn't get an open confession, of course, and I had already been certain his countenance would display no guilt.

"Come now, Mr. Holmes. You and I have been working together for some time, and I would hate to see this dragged out in such a messy fashion. Tell me the truth, and perhaps I can help you."

"Lestrade, I cannot believe that you would think that I would stoop to murder," Holmes said severely. "I simply wish to remain out of the matter, because I have heard much of this serpent Milverton, and I cannot entirely blame the murderer for their actions."

"Perhaps you _didn't_ murder him, Mr. Holmes... Perhaps it was that lady you and the Doctor were with." I noted Watson's stifled shock. "I assure you, I have enough to get a warrant for your arrest. I would hate to see that...you have been a very great help to myself and the Force."

Holmes was silent for a moment, thinking this over.

"I assure _you_, we were at the theatre. I can produce witnesses."

"I see," I said flatly. "Perhaps it is all just a great series of coincidences then...though I know how you feel about those." I wait, but Holmes says nothing, and the Doctor looks quite uncomfortable. "Coincidences that there were two men...a tall, thin one who apparently picks locks _very_ well, and a shorter, stouter fellow who had a game leg. At least one was dressed in evening dress--the taller one--as if he was going to the theatre."

"Very fine coincidences, Inspector," said Holmes. "You do realise there are more pairs of gentlemen than us?"

"I do. But I know none who so expertly crack such fine safes and are able to clear a garden wall like Milverton's so easily," I replied.

"Then there is the point of the lady you mentioned. Why would I travel with a lady? It's absurd," he said, shifting the subject entirely.

I paused a moment. Why _would_ Holmes travel with a lady? Surely he would not let his client come along...unless...

"She was your client," I replied in realisation. "You told her you intended to burgle Milverton's--after bribing the plumber Escott for information on the house, no doubt--and she came without your permission that night. _That's_why you had to go behind the curtain. The room was empty, but when she arrived, and when Milverton arrived, you had to make yourselves scarce." I paused again as another thought hit me. "You, Mr. Holmes, and Doctor Watson...the two of you were not the murderers at all. It was the lady. You are shielding her."

Watson, at this point, opened his mouth to speak, his face now flushed a deep red, but Holmes gave him no time.

"We had nothing to do with the murder of Mr. Charles Milverton. None of my clients are responsible for the man's death. It is, just as you say, coincidences, as outrageous as they may be."

I stared at him for a minute, my eyes narrowed slightly. I could think of no alternative; they had left me with no choice. "Then I am afraid I will have to arrest you, Mr. Holmes. You also, Dr. Watson," I said. "I do wish it had not come down to this."

Watson's square jaw fell open in shock, while I saw a trace of fear flit through Sherlock Holmes's steely eyes. Both of them tried to speak, but I interrupted them.

"I will return at thirty minutes past five o'clock; I trust you will not try to evade the law. You have until then to gather what you can to prove your innocence..." I put my hat upon my head. "I would rather not see you in gaol, but I will see justice done. Good day, gentlemen."

I left them without further conversation and descended for the second time that day to the bustle of Baker-Street. The idea of being the one to arrest Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson, thereby dragging their names through the mud and likely landing them in prison--or worse--was far from an apealing thought. But above all I had my duty to attend to.

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**KS: Thanks for reading, don't forget to review! I'm very, very, very unsure of this chapter. I think the quality is good enough, but I don't know that I like the direction...**


	5. Arrest

**_Two_ _Suspects_**

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_**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Sherlock Holmes or any of the affiliated characters or ideas--their creator is the remarkable Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.**_

**KS: Welcome to chapter five of my contribution to bcbdrums's CHAS AU challenge. I really should have planned this out more (as from here on out, I'm not going to randomly write anymore...XDDD) but...it's going where it's going. I redid the last chapter a bit...but you'll have to keep in mind that this **_**IS**_** an AU.**

**And that I've been very scatterbrained as I have been writing all this...XD**

**But please, enjoy!**

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After I left Baker-Street I made my way back to Appledore Towers to look at the scene of the murder. I hoped that perhaps I would find something more that would definitively clear Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson. Holmes had been of too much help in the past, and the Doctor was too kind a fellow to go to gaol. I probably wouldn't admit it to anyone, but I was very glad for Holmes's superior mind from time to time, and I would hate to see it waste away in prison.

I had always been more of a man of action. Seeing Milverton's study once again might do more good than staring at reports for the next few hours; I could even question the household again if necessary. There were still constables there, so I would have no difficulty in seeing what I desired to see.

When I arrived I did not enter through the front, but I went inside the same way that the burglars had, following the way we were sure they had gone, and finally ended up in the study. The carpet was covered with the foot-marks of countless policemen and house servants, so it would be of no help any longer.

I strode over to the great green safe and bent to inspect the area around the keyhole. After examining it for a few moments I sighed. While Holmes could probably distinguish the tools of the London criminal by their scratchings, I certainly could not. I moved on to something else and hoped that I could discern some clue from among the scattered pieces of this mystery.

* * *

"W-wait, where are we going?" Constable Bates asked.

"To Baker-Street," I replied calmly, checking again to be sure I had the warrant.

"Baker-Street..." Bates repeated slowly. "Oh! Will Mr. 'olmes have the murderers?"

"No, Bates. We're arresting Mr. Holmes under suspicion of burglary,"

"Oh... Really? Dr. Watson, too, sir?" The young policeman asked, his face wrinkling in surprise and confusion.

"Dr. Watson, too," I replied. "Go and make sure the four-wheeler is ready."

Bates nodded and walked away, and I fidgeted with my gloves. It was shortly after five o'clock. Everything was in place to arrest Dr. Watson and Sherlock Holmes. Now all that remained was to go and see if they were still there.

Shortly I followed in the direction Bates had gone and found the four-wheeler ready and waiting, and as soon as I was inside we rattled off toward Baker-Street. The ride seemed to pass all too quickly, and I found myself hardly feeling prepared for what I was about to do when we arrived. But duty was duty. The constables looked at me for direction, and I nodded. I got out, along with two officers, and rang the bell.

Their landlady seemed surprised to see me for a third time in one day. "Oh, Inspector," she said. It did not sound like a statement, it sounded like a question.

"Pardon me, madam," I said, making my way past her. I climbed the steps, counting them for the first time in the countless times I had ascended them to clear my mind. Seventeen. Only seventeen and I was at the door of the sitting-room. I knocked firmly, and there was a short pause before I heard a reply.

"Come in, Lestrade," called Holmes's strident voice.

I entered to see the man standing before the window, facing me, and Watson stood quickly from his chair beside the fireplace.

"Mr. Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson," I began calmly, "I arrest you under suspicion of burglary and possible murder of Mr. Charles Augustus Milverton, and I warn you that whatever you say may be taken down and used in court against you."

Poor Watson's face blanched, but Holmes's countenance remained steady.

"I hardly think you will be able to get a conviction, Lestrade," said Holmes as he took his hands out of his trouser-pockets. "All of your evidence seems to be purely circumstantial. A good defence would tear it to rags."

"You and I both know very well, Mr. Holmes, that men have been _hung_ for much less than that, let alone convicted," I said grimly. "And let's only hope that you have a good alibi," I added more quietly.

Holmes was silent a moment, thoughtful, but to my surprise, he held his hands out for the derbies.

"I suppose you're right, Lestrade," he said with a sigh. "Real evidence has no place in the modern English court."

I nearly cringed at his statement, true as it was, and fitted the derbies around his thin wrists.

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**KS: Thanks for reading, don't forget to review! Sorry that it was so short.**

**I'm not sure if I like this chapter. XD I'm too critical of my work, I'm told... There's a chance I'll redo this chapter and repost it. If I do, I'll let you know in the A/N of the next chapter. XD**


	6. Wrong End of the Arrest

**_Two_ _Suspects_**

* * *

_**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Sherlock Holmes or any of the affiliated characters or ideas--their creator is the remarkable Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.**_

**KS: Welcome to chapter six of my contribution to bcbdrums's CHAS AU challenge. I'm very sorry it took so long to update, but my life has been quite hectic and annoying. **

**And then there rests the fact that I'm not entirely sure about the police and court systems of the time…and as I'm on a new computer, I've lost all my old research links I had stumbled upon. So if anyone knows any good links, I'd be very grateful if they would share…XD I think my forum here, the Fanfiction Workshop, would be the best place to share a link, so that it wouldn't get destroyed by PMs or reviews.**

**Anyway, enjoy!**

* * *

As I fitted the doctor with the derbies I wondered if I hadn't taken it a bit too far. But it was too late now; I did not want to lose face by going back and taking them off.

"All right, take them down," said I to Bates, who nodded reluctantly and escorted the two men down to the street below.

One constable stayed with me, and I began to search the rooms for boots that matched the marks on the lawn as well as any other indication of their guilt or innocence. My heart sank slightly when I found that both men had boots that corresponded with the tracings I had brought along, though they had not even a speck of mud from the heath. In fact, with the scuffs on them they did not even look as if they had been cleaned recently.

Holmes would certainly not have left a trace of mud upon them, but it entered my mind that he might even dirty them a bit just to make them seem utterly above suspicion. It wouldn't surprise me. I was glad he was not a regular criminal, if he was even a criminal now.

I rooted around a bit more and managed to locate a burglary kit in Holmes's room—something I was already aware he had due to a strange case a few years back. When I inspected the tools inside it seemed as if they _had_ been cleaned recently, but I could make nothing of that.

After finding little more I went to the fireplace to search, but all the recent ashes had been removed. Suspicious, but pure suspicion was hardly evidence. Next I found both Holmes and the Doctor's pistols and retained them. I was almost certain that neither had committed the murder but were only guilty of burglary; the guns I was sure, would only serve to prove my point. If I recalled correctly, the calibres did not match.

So far I had found one thing against them—the boots that corresponded with the criminals'—and one thing for them—guns that did not match the murder-weapon.

I did a little more searching, including the waste-basket, but I could find nothing else.

"All right," I said to the remaining constable. "Let's go."

We descended to the street and climbed into the four-wheeler. I rapped upon the roof to signal our readiness, and we rattled off toward the Yard. There was a most deucedly uncomfortable silence for the first few minutes, broken only by a throat-clearing cough from Adams—the poor lad had just recently moved to London and still was not used to the sooty air.

"So, Lestrade," Holmes began at last, "how final is your 'evidence' at this time?"

I could tell by the tone of his voice that he was mocking me. I sighed inwardly and looked the man in the eye. "In the light of the police-sketches of the man that was nearly caught, your boot-impressions upon the lawn and the heath, and what we've read from the clues we've found, you might very well find yourself finally in prison," I replied.

I wasn't the only inspector who had said that one day, if he wasn't careful, he would find himself on the wrong end of an arrest. Here that day was, and I was the arresting officer.

"Not if the jury sees reason," Holmes said casually, though I thought I could detect a hint of unease in his voice. "There is too much circumstance and not enough hard facts."

Poor Dr. Watson had been deathly silent and rather pale, but he seemed to gather himself resolutely and looked up at me.

"What of this 'police-sketch'?" he asked in a steady tone.

"One of the criminals was nearly captured at the wall surrounding the property, and so a member of the household managed to get a good look at him. Of course, you are familiar with the methods our men employ to produce the sketches from the witness' description, and the best we have is of the nearly captured man."

"Do you have these sketches with you?" Holmes asked.

"No, I left them at the office. But I'd be prepared to swear it was you, Doctor; the only difference is the black mask the criminal wore."

Watson turned an ashen colour and looked to his feet, and Holmes's grey eyes grew distant. They did not speak further, and I leaned back to turn the clues over in my mind again. There was a lot to think about.

* * *

"Lestrade!!" Gregson exclaimed as he came into my office.

"What is it?" I asked, thoroughly _not_ in the mood for whatever he was about to begin. Unless he was about to tell me he was quitting the force…

"I just came from the cells, and Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson are back there!" Gregson stammered.

"Yes, so they are," I replied. "I'm glad we have good men like you on the force to figure out such things as that."

Gregson frowned and his flaxen brows knitted together at my sarcasm, but he sat himself in the chair before my desk, fishing a cigarette out of his pocket.

"So," he said calmly at last as he pulled out a box of matches, "What did you end up getting him for?"

"The Milverton case," I replied simply, too tired to care for his reaction as I sharpened my pencil.

Gregson dropped his match.

"What, you don't mean murder!?" he choked in surprise.

"I don't think so…just burglary."

"Then who _was_ the murderer?"

"I'm not sure yet. I believe it was a woman."

"A woman? With Sherlock Holmes?" Gregson snorted.

"I think she was possibly his client at some point. I'm sure he knows her, though."

Gregson bent to pick up his dropped match. "People underestimate the ferocity of women… How many shots was it again?"

"All six barrels," I replied.

Gregson whistled. "Nasty business. Probably nobility, too, in the circles Milverton did his business in."

"You're telling me," I sighed, pulling out a cigarette of my own.

Things still were rather unclear, and I had two good men (though one could be quite difficult at times) waiting to stand in the dock. I needed to work this out.

"Well," said Gregson, standing, "I don't envy you right now." He stretched himself stiffly, and I noticed that he had a cut above his left eye. "The arrest went better than I thought it would," he added dryly as he saw me looking at it. "Nothing worse than a few scratches and bruises."

"No shots fired, then?" I asked.

"Only as the man tried to kill himself," Gregson said thoughtfully as he exhaled a stream of smoke. "Never saw a chap miss at point-blank range before."

I only raised my eyebrows in reply.

"Well, I'd best get on to my own business before you try to lay this case off on me; Lord knows I wouldn't touch it _now_."

"I'm glad that I can count upon your assistance," I said sardonically, and Gregson left.

Now that one headache had gone, I was left with the original. I now had to focus on finding the woman that had been present… and the only two witnesses that had seen her were in police custody. Just wonderful.

A policeman's work never ended...

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**KS: Thanks for reading, don't forget to review!**

**I hope I'm still doing well as Lestrade…it's hard to stay IC and canonical for a character we know too little about. **


	7. Thinking

**_Two_ _Suspects_**

* * *

_**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Sherlock Holmes or any of the affiliated characters or ideas--their creator is the remarkable Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.**_

**KS: Welcome to chapter seven of my contribution to bcbdrums's CHAS AU challenge. This is lasting a lot longer than I thought it would—though admittedly, I did not think about it—which is interesting. Let's just see where it goes. xD **

**This chapter was not beta-read, since I'm in a bit of a hurry and in an agitated mood, but if anyone has any suggestions/spots any errors, do not hesitate to tell me about them because I always try to save the document for a while.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

I sighed, cupping my chin in my hand as I rapped my pencil against my desk, turning my options in my mind over slowly. Inquiries would have to be made to learn whose lives Milverton had ruined… Alibis would have to be checked…

Like so many others, this would not be a simple 'open-and-shut' case.

But, for now, I closed the file on my desk. It was time for me to go home and sleep until I had to come back to-morrow and start all over again. It seemed like forever since I had last lain my head upon a pillow…

I stood and walked to the door of my office, and just as I was reaching for the handle there was a knock from the other side. A little surprised, I turned the knob and opened it to see a constable standing there with a well-dressed woman beside him.

"A Lady Eva Blackwell to see you, sir," the officer announced.

I frowned, wondering what this would be about. Hopefully it was not some trite matter that she thought was important…I had enough cases on my hand as it was...

"Come in, Lady Blackwell," I said politely, opening the door fully for her to enter.

She stepped in gracefully, and I went back to my desk.

"Please, have a seat and tell me what brings you to Scotland Yard," I said, seating myself after the lady had done so.

"It concerns the murder of Mr. Charles Augustus Milverton," she replied, and I felt my eyebrows shoot toward my hairline.

My hand instinctively took up my pencil. "Have you any information you wish to give?" I asked.

"Perhaps nothing as helpful as you might hope for," she said. "It is more for my own sake that I am here. The newspapers said that odious snake's papers were all burnt…does that mean _all_ of them?"

"Yes, I'm afraid that no physical evidence seems to remain of his dishonourable occupation," I replied.

"Ah, good," said the lady, looking much relieved. She then looked at me curiously. "I suppose you are much on your way to capturing the murderers?"

"We are making progress," I said, not wanting to divulge too much information—for all I knew, she could be the murderess herself!

"Well, as long as no information gets out, I suppose it is good that this is in the hands of officials now. I _had_ consulted Mr. Sherlock Holmes of Baker Street upon the matter, but he seems to have made no progress. I suppose I shall have to drop by to-morrow and tell him he needn't pursue the matter further—"

"I'm afraid you won't be able to do that," said I. "Mr. Holmes is in custody under suspicion for burglary; we believe he was present at the time of the murder."

"Oh," said the woman with slightly shocked surprise.

"We believe he will be able to identify the murderer," I added casually, watching to see her reaction.

"I do not much care if you find him or not," she replied with perfect calm. "That devil deserved every foul death a man could die."

It did not seem that Lady Blackwell was our murderess…

"Do you have any additional information you might be able to share that will assist us in capturing the true culprit?" I asked.

"I'm afraid not, Inspector," she replied. "Mr. Milverton showed me a few instances of women he had blackmailed before, but—"

"You know a few of the other victims?" I asked quickly.

"Not _personally_, but I know their names."

"Then please, tell me what you can remember," I said, flipping to the next clean leaf in my note-book.

"Well, first was the Lady Beatrice…"

* * *

The Lady Blackwell was finished soon enough—she only had three women to speak of. But, at least we knew a little of Milverton's methods…he would use other women as an example to make the ones he was working on more apt to pay his large sums. And, his victims could not retaliate: if they did, he would only be in prison for a few months, and then his victim's ruin would immediately follow his release.

I told an officer on my way out to look through the paper files we had to search for sudden broken engagements among the nobility and wealthy. Our paper files were not as complete as they could be, but it was a start. I would take what information I had gleaned from Lady Blackwell and whatever was gathered in my absence and start my inquiries in the morning.

All that waited was to see where they would lead. I stepped out into the cool night; there was a fog, and an interesting odour was blowing up from the nearby Thames. I shoved my gloved hands into my pockets and turned down the road to walk home, knowing it would be just me and my sobering thoughts in the chill of the night.

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**KS: Thanks for reading; don't forget to review! And if anyone knows any good sites to research the Victorian legal system I would be very grateful! **

**(NEW: For updates on fic progress, see my "semi-daily update" section on my profile!)**


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